Today I sat down to write a short “bio” to accompany a photo for this blog. I had no idea where to start. I mean,… How do you pare down your life, your interests, your skills your credentials, onto what is essentially a virtual Post-it note stuck to a college dorm-like refrigerator and tossed into the “blogosphere.”

Well, I did come up with something short and sweet, and you will see it here, at some point soon, to the right of this post. It’s far from complete but it will have to suffice.

What I really discovered though, in thinking back to recall exactly when my interest in “earthy pursuits” came about, was that it was much earlier than I realized.

One one my earliest and fondest memories is of sitting on the ground outside the back door of my parents’ house, mixing dirt with water, slopping it into a little tin pan and topping it with a dollop of shaving cream from my dad’s Barbasol canister. The perfect mud pie!
It always looked so delicious that I wanted to try a bite, but somehow I knew better.

I also remember tossing banana peels and eggshells onto the big compost pile in the backyard. I didn’t really get it at the time, … didn’t quite know what a compost pile was all about, but I thought it was much more fun to throw table scraps into the big, chicken wire box in the backyard instead of the standard kitchen trash can. It was also pretty cool to watch my dad toss it and turn it over from time to time with a pitchfork. I would always see chubby little white grubs, squirming with irritation at being stirred from their beds.

From as early as I can remember, there was a garden in my backyard. I can recall seeing tomatoes, fat and blushing on the vine and lined up like little soldiers on the kitchen counter. My mom would slice them thick, sprinkle them with salt and pepper and serve them with dinner every night during the growing season. The most simple of salads was also the favorite.

I also remember, vividly, the fat green tomato hornworms. One summer they had completely taken over our tomato plants. You could go out to the garden, and count on finding at least a half-dozen. They were so well-camoflauged that we would easily miss them while they were small… and then suddenly there were these enormous, beastly caterpillars hanging like water balloons about to burst. This was a hard thing for me, as I just LOVED caterpillars. But, these things… they just didn’t seem right. Yes, they were a beautiful color of green, with a single white stripe flanking their soft, smooth bodies, but then there was this long, sharp spike protruding from the rear end, like a colossal stinger. It just was NOT right. We plucked them and disposed of them. I’m not sure how, as I suppose my parents tried to shelter me from such horrific things, but I’m sure it wasn’t pretty.

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My mom and dad always loved nature… Mom, in particular found joy and peace in all living things. She was always bringing things from outdoors into the house. Not just fresh flowers, but branches, twigs, rocks, leaves, birds’ nests, grass… you name it and it was fodder for decor. She would often break out a can or two of spray paint, and if Christmas was near, dress up the gathering in silver or gold. If you were a new visitor to her home, you could count on a tour of her bird’s nest collection, complete with fragile little speckled eggs.
Dad often balked and wondered aloud why there were sticks on the coffee table or leaves all over the bookcase, but you could tell that he secretly appreciated her way of bringing beauty to their home. He was an outdoor-man as well… tending to the yard in a business-like fashion, taking care of the nuts and bolts, doing the dirty work. He was very stoic and matter-of-fact, but you could tell that he held it close to his heart. He had a particular love for radishes, and there was never a time that I didn’t see them either in the garden or in the fridge. He was always happy to share his latest, freshest radish with me, and to this day, I love them.

Mom and Dad are still here, and at 89 and 91, still enjoying (mostly) life and nature, in their outdoor oasis.

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Mom and Dad agreed to let me photograph them in their backyard.

Things have changed though. Mom doesn’t get around very well and much of her time outside is spent sitting next to their backyard pond, feeding and talking to the fish. It’s her peaceful place and I know that during the winter, when it’s too cold and frozen to be outside, she is a bit heavy-hearted that she has to stay inside. Surrounding the pond, and pretty much every square-foot of their landscape, is a menagerie cast in stone and resin. Turtles, frogs, ducks, doves, chickens, herons, cats, foxes and even a clan of meerkats dot the landscape. And they are all lovingly watched over by cherubic angels and carefree children.

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Most of the digging, planting, mowing, weeding and general labor is designated to either the grandkids or the hired help. Dad still tries to take care of things though, even when he shouldn’t. This summer my brother caught him on a shaky ladder up in their apple tree, with a hose, trying to spray so that bugs wouldn’t eat all their apples. When that didn’t work so well he got up on the roof. Maybe not the brightest idea but at least he still has determination. Dad has even taken to baking homemade apple pies from those apples that he saved — and this is a guy who for most of his life could barely boil water. Go figure.

My parents are one-of-a-kind…quirky, hard-of-hearing and hard-headed. They often make me crazy with their unique style of dysfunction. But each of them, in their own way, is an inspiration. They both take life as it comes, head-on, with no regrets or excuses, and through it all, they both still find beauty in all living things. I appreciate and admire you, Mom and Dad, and want to thank you for instilling within me, a love for nature, beauty, gardening and… life.